Everyone salutes me and I don’t look remotely like the Queen or Sonia Gandhi, not even like Manmohan Singh for that matter.
There is a constant display of reverence which I am sure I don’t deserve. Only Parmesan orders me around and shouts at me as if I am the kitchen washer upper.
There is a pecking order and I am pretty high up there. I am the boss’s wife but they secretly know I is the “real thing”.
My gentle accommodating nature – remember that – gone
I am the Greek goddess with a passionate and fiery temper. Shiva confessed to Anthony in the car. “She is very angry no?” You would be too if you were told that you cannot pick up your gas cylinder because your husband has to do that.
I am the funniest thing to have hit Triveni Gardens. Kumari thinks I am a riot and falls around giggling hysterically every time I utter a word in Hindi.
I am Greek and to most this is a conversation starter along the lines. “I love Greece, I have been to Santorini and love Greek food and Nana Mouskouri is the cat’s whiskers.”
My perception of myself is slowly metamorphosing in the heat.